THE EMERALD RING
Grahame went in to dinner feeling anxious. Sarmiento had not returned,
but he would probably come in before the meal was over, and Gomez was
sitting by Cliffe near the head of the table. Blanca sat opposite
Walthew, and Grahame found a place next to Evelyn, who had not joined
Cliffe because she disliked Gomez. Though his manners were polished,
there was something sinister about him, a hint of craft and cruelty, and
she did not approve of his association with her father.
"Have you met the gentleman yonder?" she asked Grahame.
"Senor Gomez? I know who he is, but have not spoken to him."
"That's curious, because he has been looking at you as if he were
interested."
This confirmed Grahame's suspicion, and he felt uneasy. He did not want
Gomez to study him, and he would not have come in to dinner only that he
must warn Sarmiento. If he and his friends were to succeed in their
undertaking, their connection with Don Martin must remain unknown; for
it would not be difficult to catch them landing arms should their object
be suspected. He wondered where Macallister was, for the engineer could
be trusted in an emergency, and presently he saw him coming in. There
was no vacant place near Grahame, and Macallister sat down some distance
off.
"You may have been mistaken, Miss Cliffe," Grahame suggested. "Somehow,
I imagine that Gomez is not a favorite of yours."
"That's true, though I hardly know him," she answered with a smile. "One
is now and then seized by a quick prejudice, and I think the reason I
mentioned the man was because I wanted your opinion."
"Did you think it worth having?"
"I can't judge. Perhaps I really wanted to be agreed with. When you have
no good ground for making up your mind about a thing, it's pleasant to
find your conclusions confirmed."
"Well, I believe you can trust your feelings. Gomez can't be a nice man
if all one hears is true. But what turned you against him--the dash of
dark blood?"
"No, not altogether. I felt repelled, as one feels repelled by a snake
or a toad."
Grahame made a sign of understanding. There was, he thought, something
very refined in the girl's character; an instinctive fastidiousness. She
walked in the light and shrank from all that lurked in the shadow. It
was her inner self that had recoiled from the swarthy politician and
reason had nothing to do with the matter.
"Your father seems to be on good terms with the fellow," he remarked.
"Yes; it puzzles me. However, I suppose he is forced to deal with all
kinds of people----"
She paused, and Grahame changed the subject. He might have obtained some
information by judicious questions, but he could not take advantage of
the girl's frankness by leading her to reveal anything she knew about
her father's affairs. This would taint their friendship, which he
valued.
After a time, she looked at him with a twinkle of amusement.
"I watched a little comedy shortly before dinner."
"Did you?" said Grahame. "Comedies are not unusual when one knows how to
look for them, but they don't catch everybody's eye."
"This one was rather obvious; I mean the transformation of a staid
Scottish engineer into a Cuban sugar-planter of convivial habits."
"Mack isn't really staid. It looks as if you didn't quite understand the
Scottish character. Under its surface sobriety one's apt to find a very
reckless humor. I'm a Borderer, and rather proud of it, you know. But
how did the beginning of the first act strike you?"
"It seized my interest. The plot was not unusual; confused identity is a
favorite theme, but I noticed some histrionic cleverness. The rake of
the _sombrero_ and the hang of the big cloak were good. They carried a
hint of mild dissipation; one recognizes artistic talent in these light
touches."
Grahame laughed.
"I'm not sure it was all art; experience may have had something to do
with it. Mack's not an ascetic."
"But how did the play go off?"
"It was a success, I think."
"In one act?"
"No," said Grahame thoughtfully. "I imagine it isn't played out yet, and
the other acts may not be in so light a vein."
"As you didn't expect an audience, perhaps I'd better promise not to
talk about your play. You may have felt some diffidence about asking
that."
"Thank you," said Grahame quietly. "You're very quick."
Evelyn smiled. There was something about the man which appealed to her.
Perhaps it was the mystery that seemed to shroud him and the
_Enchantress_. She noticed now that he was casting furtive glances about
the dining-room.
As a matter of fact, Grahame was worried about Don Martin. The flowers,
plates of fruit, and tall wine carafes obstructed his view, but he could
see that Sarmiento had not come in. Gomez was talking to Cliffe, but his
eyes wandered about the table. For a moment they rested on Blanca, and
Grahame felt angry, as if the fellow's glance were an insult to the
girl. Then it was fixed observantly upon himself, and he hid his
antagonism.
Dinner was a lengthy function, but the last course was served, and some
of the guests were smoking and some leaving their places to speak to
their friends, when Sarmiento came in. He walked toward Grahame, who was
glad of the general movement, which might help him to deal with the
situation. Looking round quickly, he noted that Gomez had turned to
Cliffe; and then, getting up carelessly, he stood between the secretary
and Don Martin. He faced Sarmiento, and the latter stopped when he saw
Grahame's frown. A life of political intrigue had made him keen-witted,
and with a negligent movement he turned and went back, speaking to a
waiter as he passed.
Evelyn rose and waited by her chair. Something she did not understand
was going on, and the hint of intrigue excited her. She trusted Grahame,
and she thought his object was good. Moreover, she guessed that it had
something to do with thwarting Gomez, and she meant to help him if she
had an opportunity.
The secretary suddenly pushed back his chair, and Grahame felt his heart
beat. Sarmiento was not far from the door, and his back was toward his
enemy, but he would have to turn at the end of the table, and that would
bring his profile into view. It seemed that he recognized the danger,
though Grahame did not think he had seen Gomez, for he bent down,
turning his head as he tightened his sash. His face was still hidden
when he reached the door, but Grahame, looking round, saw Gomez walk
quickly down the room. Other people were now leaving, and Grahame joined
them, hoping that he might get out before his antagonist. He was unaware
that Evelyn, who guessed his intention, was close behind him.
There was more room on Gomez's side of the table, and Grahame was
delayed by several ladies whom he could not push aside. He would have
risked some apparent rudeness, but dared not make a disturbance. Gomez
had almost reached the door when a man collided with him and barred the
way, and Grahame smiled as he heard an apology in bad Castilian, for he
saw that Macallister had given Sarmiento a few more seconds' start.
Evelyn had slipped round the group of women while Grahame was trying to
avoid one of them, and she was now in front of Gomez, who was hurrying
along the passage. The man was close to her when she stopped and bent
down with a warning cry.
"Take care, senor! I have dropped a ring."
Gomez could not get past her, and his eyes blazed with fury. His polish
was superficial, and Evelyn saw something of the savagery beneath. She
flinched, but plucked up her courage.
"It is a valuable ring, and will break if you tread on it," she said.
"Move then!" Gomez commanded harshly; and when she stepped back her
dress uncovered the ring. Its setting was of small emeralds and
diamonds, and might easily have been crushed.
Gomez picked up the ring and gave it to her with a bow. Then he hurried
on; but when he reached the _patio_ it was empty, and Grahame, standing
at the other end of the passage, heard his ugly exclamation. The next
moment Evelyn passed him, coming back, but her manner indicated that she
did not wish to speak.
After a time Grahame strolled out from the front of the hotel, and
looked round as he turned a corner. Nobody followed him; and, as he
expected, he found Sarmiento waiting in the shadow some distance farther
on.
"What was the danger?" the Spaniard asked.
"Gomez was in the dining-room."
"Ah!" said Sarmiento. "Did he recognize me?"
"I don't think so, but I can't be sure. He was suspicious. But it's
hardly prudent to stand talking in the street."
They entered a shabby cafe, and, choosing a quiet corner, ordered wine.
"If our friend's suspicions are aroused, he'll lose no time in following
them up," Sarmiento said; and Grahame noticed that although the cafe was
almost empty he avoided the secretary's name. "A Pinillo boat sails at
daybreak and passengers go on board to-night. It seems to me that I'd
better embark."
"But the Pinillo liners don't call at your port!" Grahame said.
Sarmiento smiled.
"It may puzzle our friend if he watches the mole. When I have been on
board I will return quietly, but not to the hotel. I know this city,
where I have trustworthy acquaintances. I may be able to learn the
business that has brought him here."
"But what about your daughter?"
"I do not think our friend knows her, and our name is not on the hotel
book. There is a Cuban lady I can leave her with."
"One would imagine that watching the fellow might be dangerous. There
are half-breed rascals in the port who wouldn't hesitate about
sandbagging or stabbing you for a few dollars. But, after all, you run
some risk at Rio Frio."
"I am safe there, for a time," said Sarmiento. "The opposition dare not
arrest me, and the citizens would have to be satisfied if I disappeared.
There would be a riot, and the Government is not ready to use force
yet."
"I see," said Grahame. "It's evident that you are popular; but the
leaders of movements like yours are sometimes willing to sacrifice a
comrade for the good of the cause. It might not suit them to have their
hand forced by a tumult."
"Such things happen. But my hold is on the people. They would not be
appeased."
"May I ask how you got that hold?"
"I will tell you, senor. My family is of some importance, and at first I
was not an active liberator. The peons on my father's estate were, in a
sense, his subjects: ignorant, superstitious people with childish
passions; but they trusted him, and it was our tradition that they
should be treated well. As I grew up, however, I saw that much had not
been done. They wasted effort, suffered needless pains, and died of
diseases that might be stamped out. In my inexperience I resolved that I
would teach them to live healthily and well."
"I dare say you found it hard."
Sarmiento smiled.
"That is very true. I was young and an enthusiast, and it hurts to be
misunderstood. Even the poor I tried to benefit regarded me with
suspicion; but this was not the worst. One is not supposed to be
disinterested in my country; the man who works for others is a dangerous
person. His aim is to gain power, and those who have it watch him with a
jealous eye. Well, I found my schemes thwarted by corrupt officials,
money one could do much good with must be spent in bribes, and at last I
saw that before improvement was possible our government must be
reformed. I am not naturally a politician, senor; I was forced to become
one."
Grahame made a sign of agreement.
"I think I understand," he said.
"It was uphill work, but the peasants I had helped began to trust me,
thoughtful men gave me their support, and some joined because they hated
all in authority. I was becoming an influence, and it was supposed I
could be bought. Petty honors were offered and an official post. When it
was found that these things did not tempt me, I became a danger to the
State."
"And the President tried a different plan!"
"Sometimes I feared for my liberty, and sometimes for my life. I have
had to take refuge in Cuba and the United States; much of my money has
been spent. But the determination to win freedom and good government
spreads. We are growing strong, and soon the reckoning with our
oppressors will come."
"Will things be very much better afterward?"
Sarmiento spread out his hands.
"Who can tell? One strives and hopes for the best. It is all that is
possible. Some day, perhaps, comes a small instalment of what one fights
for."
Grahame did not answer, and his companion sank into the melancholy that
often characterized him. He was engaged in an arduous struggle, and
Grahame suspected that disappointment would meet him even in hardly won
victory. The man was sincere, and had sacrificed much for his country's
sake; but he could not work alone, and it might happen that his helpers,
tasting power, would restore the abuses he had destroyed. It looked as
if he knew this, but did not let it daunt him.
After a long silence Sarmiento took out his watch.
"I think I had better go on board the Pinillo boat now," he said. "Our
business is done, and it is well that you sail to-morrow. When we are
ready for the next cargo, you will hear from us."
Pulling down his hat, he left the cafe with his cloak thrown loosely
over his shoulder, but Grahame noticed that he was careful to keep his
right hand free.